


Rudyard's Dessertation

by RadioScientist



Category: Wooden Overcoats
Genre: Gen, Hey look! Rudyard cares!!, M/M, and I have like several ideas for things I wanted to see, and I will make that happen even if I have to write it out myself like some kind of CAVEMAN, but it's easily ignored if you don't go in for that sort of thing, chocolate as a metaphor for feelings, hello yes Rudyard and Antigone need more bonding moments, slight chapyard if you squint, so here I am folks, there's not a lot in the tags for this podcast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:11:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RadioScientist/pseuds/RadioScientist
Summary: An alternative take on "The Sweet, Sweet Taste of Death", in which Rudyard unwillingly wins the raffle, the twins get their chance to bond, and Chapman, of course, interferes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is mostly script from the original episode, I'm sorry! Rest assured I'll be pretty much running off script for the rest. 
> 
> (I had at least 10 different puns in mind for the title and I regret nothing please hire me to write your titles Wooden Overcoats staff)

Antigone and Rudyard continued their trek back to Funn Funerals, bickering.

 

“Rudyard, I don’t want to be seen with you ever again.”

 

“Well, that suits me. But I think you overreacted.”

 

_“I’ve never been so embarrassed!”_

 

Rudyard rolled his eyes.

 

“YOU liked those flowers. I liked those flowers… it’s standard practice to haggle on price.”

 

Antigone turned to glare at him, halting their progress outside of Agatha Doyle’s sweets shop, ‘ _The Broken Tooth_ ’.

 

“Not when it takes five sodding hours it isn’t!”

 

Rudyard shrugged, crossing his arms and avoiding eye contact.

 

“Well, Petunia’s a tough cookie. By the fifth time she burst into tears it began to feel a little cruel. But I got her to four pounds fifty in the end.”

 

“They only cost two pounds in the first place!” Antigone burst out, looking like she’d quite like to strangle him, but was too angry to pause her shouting long enough to get her hands around his neck.

 

“Yes, but she paid me to go away and leave her alone. It’s quite a result!” He wasn’t sure what his sister was complaining about. At the rate his- _their_ business was going, four pounds fifty was nothing to sneeze at.

 

“But Rudyard, it took you three hundred minutes to buy one bunch of flowers that were alive when you started out and _dead_ by the time you left! It was a counterproductive waste of time!”

 

He cocked an eyebrow, raising his chin so he was looking down at her.

 

“I suppose you had better things to do?”

 

“I- could have developed embalming fluids! I’ve nearly finished the one that makes the body smell like a blueberry muffin.” There she went, with her fluids again. Honestly, if she'd spend as much time working on getting customers over Chapman than she did fiddling with her scents and embalming fluids, they could have made twice as much by now!

 

“You’ll just make them want muffins that we can’t afford to give them. _Now_   who’s being counterproductive?” It was never enough for them that they did their job efficiently. They wanted all of these GIMMICKS now, blasted Chapman! HE probably had muffins as well, _the absolute_ -

 

“All we’ve got now is some very dead flowers and a lifetime ban from the Piffling Market!”

 

Oh honestly. Why couldn’t she just appreciate his (admittedly few) successes rather than tearing them down all the time? At least it was something. They might not be able to get more flowers anytime soon, but it was a start. That reminded him...

 

“We’re going to have to ration those for as long as you can. One petal per funeral should do it I’d say.”

 

“I cannot work like this! Our funerals are extensions of ourselves! They’re our message to the world!” Antigone fisted her hands in her hair, scrunching her eyes closed in annoyance.

 

“Look; we get the body in the coffin in the ground ON TIME. That’s our message to the world”. It was a rather good message too, even if he did say so himself. Catchy. Precise.

 

“But where’s the beauty? Where’s the feeling? This is exactly why Chapman’s doing better than us.”

 

He began to lose his good mood as Antigone mentioned his nemesis, further ruining his small victory.

 

“Well then why don’t you go and MARRY Chapman?”

 

“What d'you mean how dare you- you’re ridiculous he’d _never accept_ -” 

 

“What?”

 

“Shut up exactly, keep your eyes on the pavement”

 

As he began to formulate a biting response, there came an interruption in the form of Ms Doyle.

 

“I say; Rudyard! Miss Funn! Hello!”

 

The two waved back to her.

 

“Oh! Good evening Ms Doyle!” Rudyard stroked Madeline idly as he mused quietly to himself. “I do fancy a sherbet Dip Dab. Do I deserve it though?”

 

Madeline gave an encouraging squeak. He smiled faintly at her through the pocket.

 

“Thank you Madeline. You can share it with me.”

 

“What about me?”

 

He glared again at Antigone.

 

“Buy your own!” He turned to Ms Doyle. “Now look here, Ms Doyle. I’d like to get a sher-”

 

“How lucky you are to have dropped by this evening! I’m running a little competition to raise money for the upkeep.”

 

He deflated a little at the interruption.

 

“A competition?”

 

“Actually, it’s really a raffle.”

 

Rudyard noticeably stiffened, shooting her a disgusted look which went ignored.

 

“Oh god.”

 

“What’s the prize?” Antigone asked, politely.

 

“If your ticket’s picked from the hat, you’ll win the opportunity to create your very own chocolates!”

 

Rudyard watched as Antigone deflated at the news.

 

“I don’t eat chocolate, it makes me hyperventilate.”

 

It was true. He remembered having to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre one Christmas when the woman next door had made the unfortunate mistake of gifting Antigone with a box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray. It had been pretty fortunate for him though, when he’d been allowed to eat the rest of them.

 

"Oh dear." Ms Doyle shook her head, looking sympathetic. "What a pity. And you might have make a significant contribution to the village too.”

 

Antigone immediately perked back up at the words, despondency replaced with an almost manic energy. Rudyard got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

“How?”

 

“It’s part of the prize. You design them, I make them, and they go on sale from now on here at _The Broken Tooth_.”

 

“Oh!” Antigone seemed impressed. The bad feeling grew.

 

“Sid Marlowe from _Piffling Matters_ will run a feature on them, too. Tremendous publicity! All in the island.”

 

“Can we go now?” Rudyard interrupted, sensing that if he didn’t nip this in the bud then he’d become involved in some kind of _raffle_ , which he really didn’t need today. All he wanted was a Dip Dab, and a rest at home. Being on his feet for three hours straight whilst arguing with Petunia had made his legs ache.

 

“Shhh! So, you’re saying, Ms Doyle, that I could… create something that people would appreciate?”

 

“A little bit of you in every chocolate!” Agatha beamed.

“Creatively speaking, of course,” she hastened to add. “And entirely unique!”

 

“Oh, entirely unique?” Antigone had that far off look she often got when she’d come up with some kind of plan. That is, some kind of plan which would inevitably end up ruining Rudyard’s day. He made another vain attempt to get them back on track.

 

“I want my Dip Dab-”

 

_“Shut up!”_

 

They were doomed. Bloody _raffles_!

 

“The deadline is in a couple of minutes. I don’t suppose you’re tempted, Rudyard?”

 

“I don’t suppose I am, Ms Doyle” he said quickly. “You see I-”

 

“How much is a ticket?”

 

What? No-

 

“One pound”

 

There was a clink. 

 

“Here’s four pounds fifty”.

 

Oh no. No no no no **NO**!

 

“Antigone! You can’t just give her-”

 

“Thank you very much, Ms Funn! That’s you popped in four and a half times into the hat!”

 

“Smashing.”

 

Rudyard tried to take a stand.

 

“Now hold on just a moment Antigone! You just spent company funds!”

 

Antigone drew herself up, looking victorious.

 

“It was company PROFIT of which I’m entitled to spend fifty percent whenever I choose! So next time you haggle over some dead plants you can keep it all yourself!”

 

“I’m not doing that again! I’ve never been so embarrassed!” He grumbled.

 

She gave an infuriated growl.

 

“Besides,” he continued “you may be able to spend fifty percent, but that means that the other fifty percent of that money is still mine! You’ve just spent it all on yourself, which according to our rules of joint ownership, you can’t do!”

 

“That’s never stopped _you_ from spending all our money yourself!”

 

“Yes well... only for the business! This is company funds you’re using for leisure here!”

 

Antigone bristled, but then, curiously, gave him a nasty smile.

 

“Perhaps you’re right, Rudyard. I couldn’t possibly buy all those tickets for myself.”

 

Rudyard stared at her, lost. He scrambled to take advantage of her apparent agreement.

 

“I’m glad you’re beginning to see reason. Now-”

 

“Ms Doyle?”

 

“Yes Ms Funn?”

 

“Could you actually make the half-ticket an entry for my brother in your raffle?”

 

“Oh, of course! Glad you’re both getting into the spirit of things!”

 

Rudyard’s smug smile slipped off of his face.

 

“Now… now hang on just a-!”

 

“Thank you Ms Doyle!”

 

“No problem! I’ll be nipping inside now to pick out the winner. A good evening to both of you!” And best of luck Ms Funn!“

 

"Thank you!”

 

“And you, Rudyard!”

 

“Now wait a-”

 

Ms Doyle re-entered her shop, bell tinkling merrily as the door closed behind her. Antigone grabbed Rudyard’s arm, pulling him back to Funn Funerals with her.

 

“Antigone! You know I _hate_ raffles! I demand you go in there and get our money back!”

 

“Oh be quiet! You’ve only got half of a ticket, it’s not like you’ll _win_ or anything!”

 

“That isn’t the point! It’s the principle of the thing-“

 

“SHUT UP Rudyard!”

 

As her hand tightened dangerously on his arm, Rudyard deemed it wisest to sullenly follow her without comment. At least once the winner was picked, they could get on with their lives. Yes… then he’d be free from this raffle farce. 

 

* * *

 

 Rudyard nudged his way past Antigone into Funn Funerals, ignoring the indignant look she shot him as he jostled her to make sure he got through the door first.

 

“Georgie!”

 

The red-head looked up from where she was currently perched on a glossy brown coffin, closing the magazine she was reading to reveal a cover with a picture of a helicopter on it before it was placed on her lap.

 

“You alright?”

 

Rudyard began to hang up his coat, while Antigone- seemingly annoyed by his previous competitiveness- loudly shut the door.

 

“Have we had any customers?”

 

Antigone scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t be silly Rudyard. Did anyone call while we were away?”

 

Georgie looked blankly at one of the cracks in the grey ceiling for a moment, narrowing her eyes in thought.

“Yep. Agatha Doyle phoned up from the sweet shop.”

 

Antigone straightened up, rushing over to Georgie with her eyes wide.

“What was that?!”

 

Rudyard tried (and failed) to suppress a sigh at Antigone’s tangible excitement. Antigone stoically ignored the jab.

 

“She wants you to go round to the broken tooth tomorrow because you’ve won the- um, R, A, double F-“

 

“I _can_ spell you know,” He muttered, knowing that it wouldn’t make any difference at this point.

 

 

“Wait, wait wait wait, hang on. I’ve won?” Antigone grabbed Georgie’s shoulders, shaking her so hard in her excitement that the magazine fell to the ground. Antigone took no notice of it.

 

“Not… exactly-” Georgie managed to get out, before she was interrupted again.

 

“Oh my god, I’ve never won anything in my life! Did you hear that, Rudyard? Me, Antigone Funn! Making a significant contribution to Piffling Vale! Oh my god, I can’t believe it. Georgie!”

She finally stopped shaking the assistant, practically bouncing on the spot.

 

“What exactly did she say about it?”

 

Georgie gently moved Antigone’s hands off of her shoulders, taking a deep breath before she responded.

 

“Antigone- look. I… I’m sorry, alright? She didn’t say that you’d won. She said… that Rudyard won. He's to go down to her shop tomorrow morning.”

 

Both Funn siblings froze, Rudyard’s coat falling to the floor as he lost his grip in shock.

 

“WHAT!?” They shouted in unison. 

 

Georgie grimaced. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Did you all hear the great news about Wooden Overcoats coming back on the 22nd? My week has just been made!**

“Antigone!” Rudyard shouted, for the fifth time that morning. “It isn’t my fault that I was picked! I didn’t even want to enter in the first place!”

 

“Sod off, Rudyard!” Came the muffled reply.

 

He banged his fist against the mortuary door one last time, before he sighed and trudged back up the stairs to the breakfast table where Georgie was buttering a piece of toast, Madeline enjoying some of the crumbs that had fallen onto the floor. She gave a greeting twitch of the whiskers as he approached.

 

“I take it she’s still not coming out?”  Georgie asked, handing Rudyard his breakfast. He gave a sigh.

 

“No. I just don’t understand her! It’s not like I wanted any of this! I even rang Ms Doyle up and asked if Antigone could take my place!”

 

“What did she say?”

 

Rudyard took a seat and began tapping his fingers on the table in annoyance.

“She said that my name was picked fair and square, and that if she allowed me to cheat then she’d be setting a bad example as an ex-constable, and an even worse example as a confectioner- whatever that means. Said that there’d be lawlessness in the streets if she didn’t take a stand with this.”

 

Georgie considered this as he munched on his toast, fighting the urge to try and goad Antigone into coming out again. There were still wrinkles in his favourite suit jacket from Antigone’s wrath after she’d found out that Rudyard had been picked over her, and he didn’t fancy his shirt’s chances with two cups of tea sitting on the table, just waiting to be spilled.

 

“Wait a minute,” Georgie said suddenly. “I thought you’d only got half of a ticket?”

 

“I did. And STILL my name gets picked. Can you believe the rotten luck I have? It’s as if someone out there’s out to get me. Bloody typical!”

 

Georgie waved this away without arguing.

 

“Yeah yeah, okay, but… how could you have won if you only had half a ticket? Wouldn’t that have been an invalid entry or something?”

 

Rudyard shook his head, sadly.

 

“Tried that one. She said since mine was only a half-ticket, she picked another one out of the hat too, so it would work out. I have no idea who it is, but it’s definitely not Antigone. She wouldn’t tell me who it was, but she apparently phoned them up yesterday to meet at the same time. If it had been Antigone she would have said, and I wouldn’t have to deal with all of this.”

 

Georgie hummed sympathetically.

 

“Cheer up sir. You know she isn’t actually angry at you, right? I’m sure she knows it isn’t really your fault. It’s just that she was so excited to be able to create something for herself. She really wanted to win.”

 

Rudyard scoffed.

“No Georgie, she IS angry at me. She actually shouted that at me yesterday, she began with ‘Rudyard, I’m really angry at you’, and then went from there.” It had been a pretty impressive speech actually, thinking back on it. He appreciated the fact that she’d come out and told him how she was feeling and why, instead of leaving him to grope for an explanation. She was wrong, but still. It was nice to know where you stood.

 

“Oh yeah, she did say that. Still, once this is all over with I’m sure she’ll forgive you. You’ve done worse.”

 

Rudyard began to take offense at that, before realising that Georgie was probably right. He gave a non-committal hum, downing the contents of his lukewarm tea. Glancing at the clock, he hurriedly grabbed his plate and mug, moving to place them in the sink.

 

“I’m going to try and talk to Antigone one last time. Will you two be okay with the preparations for Mr Kettering’s funeral?”

 

Madeline gave a squeak.

 

“Sorry. You _three_.”

 

“Of course, sir. We’ve still got a few days, no need to worry.” Georgie gave him a solemn thumbs-up from the table. “Good luck with Antigone.”

 

“Thank you, Georgie.”

 

Rudyard descended down the stairs to the mortuary again, banging on the door to announce his arrival.

 

“Antigone! Look, I have to go round to the sweet shop in a minute. If it means that much to you, why don’t you just tell me what kind of chocolate you wanted to make and I’ll do that?”

 

There was a brief silence, before the door was flung open; revealing a wild-looking Antigone, still in her embalming gloves and apron. Rudyard took a step back.

 

“And let you steal credit for my ideas? I don’t think so Rudyard! Do you even understand what this meant to me? This was supposed to be my big chance to express myself, and you’ve ruined it! Just like you ruin everything!” She poked Rudyard in the chest, leaving behind a suspiciously orange-smelling mark. He grimaced.

 

“Look, could you just- stop poking me!- listen? I didn’t ask for this! Antigone, you can’t even eat chocolate anyway! What’s the difference?”

 

“IT WASN’T ABOUT THE CHOCOLATE!” She made to grab his collar, but forced her hands down at the last moment. “This was about expression and art and having my mark on this island! And now you’re going to turn this into some- some kind of PROMOTIONAL TOOL or something! Just because you have the artistic abilities of a slug doesn’t mean I have to be stifled too! You don’t even understand!” She pushed him back roughly, marching back through the door and slamming it shut behind her, leaving Rudyard facing down the wall of wood. He briefly considered following her, but disregarded the idea quickly. She’d already told him he wasn’t allowed down there.

 

“ANTIGONE- oh, bugger it.” He marched back upstairs, now running late for the meeting at _The Broken Tooth_.

 

* * *

 

“-and that’s how I stopped a serial arsonist with just five mint imperials and a packet of strawberry laces”, Ms Doyle’s voice greeted him, as he entered into her shop. A man’s voice gave a low whistle, both pausing in their conversation as the bell announced Rudyard’s arrival. He stopped dead in front of the door as he recognised the other male, hoping against hope that it was just a trick of the light.

 

“Morning Rudyard! Lovely day to be making chocolates, isn’t it?” Eric Chapman beamed at him from where he was leaning over the counter, looking every inch as if he were pleased to see him. Rudyard gritted his teeth.

 

“Ah, Mr Funn! Come in, we were just waiting for you to get here before we made a start,” Agatha Doyle boomed, impressively. He warily made his way to stand beside Chapman, who immediately made room for him. “Now Eric, I know you’d mentioned that you couldn’t stay long since you were waiting on some building work today, so I won’t keep you two for too long.”

 

Of course Chapman was getting yet ANOTHER upgrade to his business-stealing funeral home. And he was going around flaunting it too! Honestly, didn’t he have ANY shred of decency?

 

“Ah no, there’s no need to cut things short on my behalf Ms Doyle! We certainly wouldn’t want to sacrifice your creations for the sake of speed!”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Rudyard muttered. As usual, he was ignored.

 

“Well, it’s more like your creations, really! I’m just bringing your visions to life. Naturally, I don’t expect either of you to know the specifics of the confectioner’s craft. The ‘nitty gritty’ of the ‘Tutti Frutti’, if you will.” She gave a chuckle at her joke, Chapman smiling at the pun. “But we can start with a few key words; light, or dark, hard, or soft. Maybe a few favourite ingredients?”

 

“Like caramel?” Chapman burst in, to an encouraging nod from Ms Doyle. Rudyard cursed the fact that he hadn’t thought of something to say before Chapman had. Damn it, he was losing already!

 

“That’s right! Keep it straightforward-that’s the best way. Rudyard; what have you got for us?”

He reddened slightly as they both turned to look at him expectantly.

 

“Um… well, I- hadn’t really thought much about it, really. I’ve- I’ve been far too busy, you know how it is! What with Funn Funerals and…things.” He glared at Chapman, silently daring him to disagree. His rival just nodded. Ms Doyle clicked her tongue.

 

“Right… well then, perhaps you’ll need a little more time to think. Mr Chapman?”

 

“White chocolate with a caramel centre,” came the confident reply.

 

“Salted?”

 

“Lovely.”

 

“Done.”

 

Oh for god’s sake! He’d only been here for about five minutes, and Chapman was trying to show him up yet again! He thought about Antigone’s jab. Perhaps she’d been right. She always was the more creative of either of them. Things would have been better if she had been the one to win. He couldn’t even come up with a simple idea for these stupid chocolates, and Chapman had whipped his out in about three seconds!

 

Eric placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

 

“Look Rudyard… maybe you’re overthinking it. What do you want these chocolates to represent? What kind of thing do you want to put out there?”

 

 _‘Something to make Antigone stop moping’_ he thought angrily, moving his hand to push Chapman’s hand off of his shoulder. He paused for a moment, hand on Eric’s sleeve as a flash of an idea came to him.

 

“Rudyard?”

 

“That’s it,” Rudyard said quietly. And then, louder; “That’s it!”

 

“Mr Funn?”

 

“Antigone!”

 

The two looked at him, concerned.

 

“Mr Funn… I hope you aren’t suggesting that you make your sister into chocolate, because as a constable I-“

 

“No no no, look here, it’s all very simple!” Rudyard shrugged off Eric’s hand, pointing dramatically at Ms Doyle. “I’m going to need the darkest chocolate you can find, and the blackest box to put them in…”


End file.
